


Ex Animo

by maddaddam



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Historical, Ancient Rome, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Jean Kirstein, Bertholdt and Marco are brothers, Derogatory Language, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gift Fic, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Jean Kirstein, POV Marco Bott, Period-Typical Homophobia, Senator's Son!Marco, Street Rat!Jean, casual use of latin, the Romans were DICKS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 05:17:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13093191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddaddam/pseuds/maddaddam
Summary: Marco is the son of a Roman Senator, living life according to the very strict expectations set out for him. On his one day of freedom, Marco finds himself caught in the cross-hairs of disaster, only to be rescued by a penniless metallurgist named Jean. Jean shows the Senator's son a life of freedom he's never known, but freedom comes at a price, as the two are soon to find out.The Ancient Rome AU I never thought I'd be writing but am actually really thrilled about forapproaching_asymmetry





	1. Ignis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [approaching_asymmetry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/approaching_asymmetry/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is rough when it's 64 CE and Rome is burning to the ground. Jean's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand here we are, all for you, approaching_asymmetry! I honestly couldn't believe my luck when your first prompt was a historical AU! AND I was so PSYCHED when you said Ancient Rome, of course I just had to write it! Thank you for making me put my Classics B.A. to use :)

The first time someone yelled fire, I kept walking.

The second time someone yelled fire, I paused for a moment to stare curiously at the man who’d said it. His hair was flying in several different directions, his arms were full of pots and fabrics and all sorts of trinkets which tumbled from his grasp as he hobbled down the street. I decided — foolishly — he must have been another beggar looking for money, shouting whatever attention catching phrase he could think of to get our attention. I kept walking. 

The third time someone yelled fire, it was a woman streaking down the street, linens flying wildly around her legs to an almost indecent point and eyes wide with panic. 

“ _Ignis! Ignis!_ ” She yelled. This time I stopped entirely to see what was going on. The woman accidentally ran headlong into a giant of a man, a butcher, by the looks of it, and he caught her around the waist. 

“Calm down before someone calls in the Guard(1)!” He snapped, shaking her back and forth like a dog shakes its prey after it’s been caught. I stepped closer, hesitant, but blending in well with the merchants and workers who’d come out to see what the commotion was about.

“Good, let them come! Rome is burning,” she screeched back before letting out an impressive string of curses and insults to the butcher’s mother. The crowd that had gathered around the pair murmured in anxious speculation.

 _She’s clearly mad_ , the man on my left said. _She’s been in the sun too long_ , the woman beside him agreed. _She’s lying, right, Mom?_ A boy, no older than six years asked, pulling on the skirt of his mother’s dresses. _Of course_ , carus, the woman responded lightly, running her hand through the boy’s hair. _Rome will never burn_. 

“It’s true, it’s true!” The woman said. “There’s a fire, near the Circus(2). It’s spreading, it’s spreading!” The butcher dropped the woman in his arms so she could stand on her own feet. She pointed wildly in the direction she’d come from — up the cobble-lined street and in the relative direction of the Circus. “It’s already halfway up the Caelian Hill!(3)” 

“Good!” An old man on the opposite side of the crowd from me yelled. His voice sounded like it hadn’t been used in years. I absently wondered if there were cobwebs in his lungs. “Let the wealthy bastards burn!” He huffed, crossing his spindly arms and tossing a disturbing grin towards the sky.

“It’ll spread here too, you dumb cocksucker!” An equally old woman said and slapped the man upside his head. His wife, probably. 

At that, we all looked up the street nervously, as if expecting the stones to burst into flames at any second. Then, in unison, we looked to the sky for signs of ash and smoke. A trickle of deep grey was creeping over the horizon like spilled ink through linen. The crowd decided that was as good an indicator as any, scrambling back into their homes to gather their belongings. Shrieks and crashes echoed along the now abandoned alley, leaving me alone and looking like an utter fool. I cursed.

 _Fuck this_ , I thought, glaring at the ornamental dagger in my hands. _Fuck delivering you to your rightful owner_ , even as I thought it, I continued my slow march up the hill. I was supposed to be dropping the dagger off at the home of the man who’d commissioned it, but he lived rather close to the Circus. I was particularly proud of the designs I had artfully woven into the pommel of the dagger, and I knew the money would be decent, but I had to force myself forwards instead of dropping the blade and running for home. So I plowed on, men and women and children rushing past me in various states of disarray. _Ignis! Ignis!_ Was a constant chant, thrumming steadily like a drumbeat through the alleyway. _Ignis! Ignis! Ignis!_

I finally reached the top of the incline I’d been maneuvering my way up. The sky was clearly overrun with smoke, but the smell had yet to reach me and I could see none of the flames. I was at too low an elevation. The man’s house was only a few streets away; halfway up the Caelian. I ran along the winding streets and alleys at ill-advised speeds ( _never run with anything sharp, Jean!_ I heard my mother scolding), still clutching the dagger to my chest. If I fell, it would spear me clean through the lung. I tried not to think too much about that possibility.

The man’s home was finally in view and I flung myself around the corner, sandals losing traction on the slicked tiles leading to the front of the small villa. The door was wide open so I rushed inside.

“Hello?” I called, voice ragged from sprinting up two different hills and across three different neighborhoods to get there. No one answered. “ _Hello?_ ” I tried again, wandering absentmindedly through the center, then around to the cubicula(4) and baths. Still, there was no answer, only distant screams from outside echoing ominously around the villa and its open courtyard.

“ _Fuck_ ,” I hissed, glaring angrily at the dagger which had gotten me here in the first place. I almost threw it across the courtyard and stomped away from the gods-forsaken villa, but I couldn’t seem to let go of the blade. I’d worked too damn hard smithing the dagger and carefully etching designs into the handle; too many hours had gone into the careful execution of the vines and sunflowers carved into the metal. Against better judgment, I slipped the dagger into the sash across my waist and slipped back out the front door, as quickly and quietly as I’d come in.

I pulled up short on the front porch, for once looking out over the city below. I had to give it to the wealthy bastards who lived up here, they had an awfully nice view of the city. But it was difficult to fully appreciate the beauty of the town below us when half of it was obscured by the smoke.

From up here, I could finally see the extent of the fire. It wasn’t too large just yet, just a couple dozen shops and homes up in flames, but it was spreading rapidly through the neighborhoods at the bottom of the hill. I gulped.

“Get out of here, _pleb!_ ” A man loading his valuables into a cart across the street yelled menacingly in my direction. He tossed a pot at my head, but I dodged it at the last second. It shattered on the porch beneath my feet. “You think just because there’s a crisis you can steal from a hard-working family? Leave that house and it’s belongings alone, boy!” He continued, flinging a bright red shawl over his shoulder pompously, staring down his big, fat nose at me. He shouted at me and I heard another pot hit the stone with a crash. _Senators_ , I thought bitterly, tossing some none-too-polite gestures in his direction and heading off down the street. It was much harder to navigate down the slope than it was to go up, and the crowd of people jostling down the road to safety was larger now, overwhelming at some points. I ducked into the crack between two _insulae_ to catch my breath. Citizens flowed past like leaves in the Tiber(5), rushing and ducking and weaving to get farther and farther down the stream.

“E-excuse me? You’ve dropped your blanket!” A voice across the street suddenly called out. I perked up, wondering who they were talking to. It was a younger man, maybe my age, clutching a ratty old blanket reverently to his chest and trying to get the attention of a woman a few yards ahead. She turned, revealing the young child clinging precariously to her hip, and rushed forward, thanking him profusely for his kindness. The boy seemed to find her gratitude undue, telling her there was no need to thank him for basic human decency. The woman beamed, kissed the boy on the cheek, and slipped easily back into the river of bodies.

I watched curiously as the boy made no move to follow her. _Run, you fool_ , I thought, wondering if the boy had any sense of self-preservation. It appeared not because the idiot just kept standing there, nervously looking around and desperately searching the crowd for something. A familiar face, perhaps.

A shriek from up the hill startled me from my close examination of the boy and I turned to look. One of the insulae near the crest of the hill had caught ablaze, though the rest of the fire still seemed far off. _A spark must have set it off_ , I rationalized. The smell of smoke was nigh inescapable now and I coughed into a fist. Across from me, the boy did the same.

The street was barely wide enough for four people to stand shoulder to shoulder, but I had always been rather on the leaner side and slipped into the crowd without much difficulty, flattening myself to the wall behind me and sidestepping away from the burning building. I looked over my shoulder to see if the boy had done the same. He remained firmly rooted to his spot, gazing with wide eyes at the growing flames. Bodies buffeted against him like waves, but he held strong. An older man shoved him. Still, he did not move.

 _Idiot_ , I thought, _bloody idiot_. The street erupted into chaos again as the next building went up in flames. It was still far enough away that I couldn’t yet feel the heat against my skin, but the smoke was becoming cloying and I did not wish to stay around any longer. _Why does he not move?_ I wondered, thinking of the young man even though I had also stopped moving in favor of watching him. _Move, damn you!_

I spotted the roof of a linen shop ignite from the corner of my eye and I turned to look, watching as the building went up in flames. People on the street screamed and fled, but the boy only cocked his head to the side as if unsure if the fire was real or not. He held one of his hands out towards the flames as if trying to feel their heat and I watched in horror as he took a step in the direction of the burning shop, hand still outstretched.

 _For fuck’s sake_ , I thought angrily. With a stamp of my foot, I jostled my way across the street and grabbed the boy by the arm. He startled at my touch, whipping around to gaze at me with the same mystified look in his eyes he’d had while watching the fire.

“You clearly have a death wish,” I hissed, yanking the boy’s arm and intending to pull him down the slope with me. His skin was cold and clammy under my palms and I felt my grip slipping the harder I pulled.

“My...there’s...Decimus...he never…” The boy blinked dazedly and turned to regard the flames again. I coughed and shook my head, tugging on his arm again.

“Come on, you bloody imbecile,” I tried again. He followed me a few steps down the slope but still wouldn’t tear his eyes away from the steadily growing flames. There was a loud _crack!_ as the posts of the linen store gave out and we both watched with various emotions on our faces as the building crumbled into the street, passing the flames to the next building and igniting a wooden cart left abandoned on the road. “We have to move, _now_ ,” this time, I yanked hard enough on his arm that he was forced to stumble after me.

I led the boy down alleys and streets I’d often traveled looking for customers, ducking behind homes and rushing through a few shops as I cut across the neighborhood. The boy stumbled along uselessly behind me.

“W-wait!” He called after a few blocks of running clumsily in my wake. The boy dug his heels into the ground, the sudden stop throwing my momentum off and forcing me to stumble ungracefully to regain my balance. I did not let go of his arm.

“Fuck you!” I spat. The smoke was cloying, tearing at my throat and stinging my eyes painfully. I rubbed the resulting tears away with the heel of my palm.

“Decimus is still back there!” The boy shouted as if expecting me to know who Decimus was. “We have to go back!”

“You go back there now and I guarantee the last thing you’ll ever see is the skin melting right off your bones!” I choked out, voice and lungs failing the more smoke we breathed in. The young man let out a similarly choked sound, but I could not tell if it was from the fumes or his sorrow over leaving this Decimus character behind. His eyes filled with tears — again, I was unsure if they came from the smoke or his emotions — but he nodded.

“He was in that linen shop,” he gasped, letting me pull him down alley after alley. I swung us around a corner and hopped over a series of half-built brick walls. The boy tripped over nearly every one of them, but I held tight, pulling him farther and farther away from the flames.

“Well then why the fuck did he not leave?” I demanded, finally reaching the base of the hill. The Aventine(6) stretched up on either side of us and I took a moment to consider our next course of action. We had seemingly left the flames behind us by quite a few blocks, but I had no desire to test that out by waiting around. The boy at my side made another retching sound; this time clearly from grief instead of smoke inhalation.

“There was a little boy in there...h-he ran in when he saw the flames on the horizon, I think he got scared,” he said, breath coming out in uneven intervals. “I was going to go get him but Decimus made me stay a-and then…”

I pursed my lips. “Right. Well, nothing we can do about it now,” I replied. The boy shook his head sadly. I took that as an agreement and began leading him around the hill, towards the river. The nearest bridge wasn’t very far; we could be safe across the Tiber in a few minutes if we hurried. I pulled the stranger after me a little more gently this time, not entirely heartless to the apparent loss of his friend. He followed without complaint, sniffling and wheezing until we pulled up at the base of the Sublicius(7).

“Hurry,” I pushed him in front of me so I could check our surroundings. A few people rushed by on the shoreline, screams ricocheted across the Aventine, and the sky was filled with smoke, but I saw no signs of fire. I heaved a sigh of relief, letting it rattle around in my chest a few times before turning and following the boy across the wooden bridge. He seemed uncertain of himself when he reached the other side, so I grabbed his hand gently and pulled him along the bank, aiming for a mass of tangled branches which would make a decent shelter for the time being. I lifted the thicket and led the boy inside. We slid to the ground in unison, sitting with our backs to the gnarled roots and staring blankly at the river flowing indifferently past our tired feet.

“Thank you,” the boy sighed after a few minutes of heavy breathing and rubbing teary eyes. His eyes were still rimmed with red, but I pretended not to notice. Our hands were still connected, and again I pretended not to notice.

“You would not have moved if I had not grabbed you,” I huffed lightly, smiling at the stranger. He chuckled back, a little pained; a little bitter.

“No, I doubt I would have. I would have burned. Thank you.”

I shrugged off his thanks and coughed into my fist. We stared awkwardly at the river in front of us.

“Where do you live?” I finally asked, tracing abstract patterns into the dirt beneath my free hand. The boy sighed.

“Near the base of the Caelian, almost at the Forum(8) — not too far from where you found me,” he said hesitantly, staring at the tattered excuse of a tunic I wore and undoubtedly comparing it to his own, far nicer garb. The edges were embroidered with small sunflowers and leaves, gold stitched into the tie around his waist. It put my ratty, plain linens to shame.

“In that case it is I should apologize, for rubbing my dirty plebeian hands all over you,” I joked, picking up a handful of dirt and letting it shift onto his leg. The boy laughed lightly.

“It is a welcome change,” he said, returning the favor and rubbing a handful of dirt into my tunic. “I’ve never seen so much of the city before…” he trailed off, gazing absently across the river as if he could see Rome between the heavy roof of branches. I hummed quietly; neither an affirmative, nor a negative, to see if he would continue.

“Today was the first time I’d even been allowed to go shopping,” he shook his head sadly. “That turned out well, did it not?” I laughed.

“The first time? Why?” I wondered allowed. The boy shrugged and drew his knees closer to his chest.

“I was never permitted. Decimus always went shopping for us but...I begged mother to let me go with him, just once. My brother left last month for the Guard and I’ve had no entertainment since. I just wanted to see what it was like…”

“Decimus, he was your…?”

“Slave,” the boy said tersely, drawing his eyebrows together angrily. “I never thought of him as such, though. He was my age; it felt weird to say I owned him when we practically grew up together.” I nodded in understanding. The fact that the boy beside me had slaves was not particularly unusual. That he had cared so much for one was. And that he had stayed by my side despite our clearly different backgrounds; that was odd as well. None of it added up to the picture of the nobles I had engraved in my mind.

“Do you have a name?” The boy coughed nervously into his fist. I finally let go of his other hand to straighten out my own tunic anxiously.

“It’s not particularly… _Roman_ ,” I said nervously. The boy smiled kindly anyway.

“That’s alright. I’ve never particularly fancied Roman names, anyway.”

“It’s um...well my mom’s a Celt, so…” I fiddled with the tattered fabric beneath my fingers. “It’s Jean. My name’s Jean.”

“Hmm...I like it,” the boy smiled warmly, reaching out for the hand I’d pulled away and bringing it close to his chest, fingers entwined with mine. Warm lips met my knuckles, sending sparks zipping up and down my arms.

“My full name is a bit of a mouthful,” he laughed nervously, dropping my hand. “Marcus Catulus Decipula. It just sounds condescending, does it not? My brother prefers to call me Marco. I would be pleased if you did as well?” He ended on a question, hopefully staring into my eyes. My hand still floated gracelessly between our chests.

“Marco, then,” I agreed, cheeks bright red. Marco smiled back warmly, shifting so he could face me better.

“So, _Jean_ ,” he drawled, leaning away entirely and reclining against the twisted tree roots at our backs. “What do we do now that the fire no longer licks at our heels?” Marco curled into a ball, knees tucked to his chest, and looked forlornly at the smoke laying thick and oppressive across the water.

“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. Heading back into the city was an obviously bad plan, but we couldn’t stay huddled by the Tiber without provisions forever. _If I could just get us some blankets_ …

“I’ll go into the city and grab some supplies,” I decided, saying it aloud to trick my body into thinking it was a decent idea. Marco stared at me in absolute horror, eyebrows raising and jaw dropping as I stood and brushed some of the dampened dirt from my tunic.

“W-what? No! We don’t even know how far the fire has spread by now a-and you want to rush in?!” He yelped and reached for my calf, wrapping one arm protectively around my leg to keep me from making good on promise.

“Marco,” I sighed, pulling my leg away, “I’ll be fine. I know some places not too far from the river where I can get provisions. I promise to return should the fire get too close, alright?” Marco eyed me warily, but let me step out of the enclave of branches without physically tackling me and taking me to the ground to keep me there. He chewed his lip pensively.

“Alright,” he relented, “but please, please come back.” Marco stared up at me with almost comically hopeful eyes and the bare beginnings of a pout on his lips. I couldn’t help comparing the boy to a dog begging for scraps of food in the street. I smiled back. 

“Of course, I promise to return. If I do not return by nightfall, I give you explicit permission to curse me and my family for the next three generations. Fair?” Marco pouted fully but gave in.

“ _Ita vero_ ,” he grumbled. Marco crossed his arms over his chest and looked dejectedly at the riverbed under his feet. I leaned down and put a hand on his shoulder.

“I promise to come back to you,” I said, giving Marco’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He blinked up at me blearily and nodded, one lip between his teeth. He looked so damned defenseless so without a second thought, I handed him the dagger tucked into the belt of my tunic. Marco took the blade hesitantly. “In case something goes wrong,” I explained when he continued looking dumbfounded.

“O-oh. Alright,” Marco laid the blade in his lap, giving me a shaky smile as I finally ducked out of the shelter. _Hopefully nothing will go wrong with Marco while I am away_ , I thought as I trudged up the bank back towards the bridge. 

_Hopefully nothing will go wrong for_ me, I thought hopelessly, staring at the looming smoke rising above the city.

With a sigh and one last glance at the branches keeping Marco out of harm’s way, I headed for Rome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
>  _Ignis_ \- fire  
>  _Carus_ \- a Latin term of endearment, similar to calling someone dearest or sweetheart  
>  _Pleb/plebeian_ \- (in ancient Rome) a commoner, or someone of low social standing  
>  _Insulae_ \- Literally 'islands', it was used to refer to buildings we would now consider apartments  
>  _Ita vero_ \- yes
> 
> Notes:  
> (1) The Praetorian Guard. Essentially like the police, but they were really only concerned with keeping order anywhere the emperor was concerned.  
> (2) The Circus Maximus. An ancient Roman chariot racing stadium and mass entertainment venue located at the base of the Palatine and Aventine hills.  
> (3) The Caelian Hill. One of the seven hills of Rome, notably made up of richer citizens and wealthy politicians. Marco's home.  
> (4) Cubicula. Latin word for bedrooms.  
> (5) The Tiber River. AKA the river Rome was built around.  
> (6) The Aventine Hill. One of the seven hills of Rome, kind of a hodgepodge of different residential areas and markets. Jean's home.  
> (7) Pons Sublicius. Probably the oldest bridge in Rome.  
> (8) The Roman Forum. A rectangular plaza surrounded by several important ancient government buildings at the center of Rome.


	2. Flumine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions. Lots and lots of reunions. Marco's POV.

Jean’s figure finally crossed the bridge and I let out a shaky sigh as he was lost from my sight, praying to every god I could think of to keep him safe. It took several minutes of gazing absently at the bridge where he’d disappeared before I finally looked away and turned my attention elsewhere. It was difficult to find distractions in the little enclave by the river, but I did my best. First, I counted the leaves floating by my feet. Then I drew patterns of no particular importance in the dirt. They didn’t turn out very well, so I turned my attention to the dagger Jean had given me and examined the blade. It was beautiful, really. The designs were intricate and so detailed, I lost myself in tracing the vines and flowers with my thumb. I didn’t even notice when I cut my finger on the edge, nor did I notice when the afternoon sun dropped low enough in the sky for the blade in my hands to reflect its rosy glow.

 _Where is Jean?_ I thought, blinking rapidly when I realized how late it was getting. _Back by nightfall, he said_. It was almost nightfall. I panicked over this realization for a good several minutes, clutching the dagger dangerously close to my chest and breathing heavily. I had lost Decimus already — a fact I knew I was ignoring in favor of survival at the moment — and I knew I could not lose Jean as well. Obviously, I didn’t know him as well as I knew Decimus, but he had saved me from the flames and led me to safety, so he must have been good. My mother and father (mostly my father) would have had me crucified like one of those rebels in Judea if they knew I felt that way. I probably would have been terrified of that fact if I wasn’t more concerned with the darkness closing in around me.

After several minutes of panicked breathing and pointedly avoiding thoughts of Decimus _and_ Jean succumbing to the flames, I was finally overcome completely by darkness. The sky to the east glowed a hazy red, occasionally blotted out with dark clouds of haze. The smoke covering the moon made it difficult to see the river flowing dangerously in front of my feet, but if I squinted really hard I could make out the waves lapping against the shore every once in a while. I clutched the dagger even tighter, fearing what monsters may come out of that water. _Maybe Tiberinus(1) will wrap a watery fist around my legs and drag me to the depths of the river. Maybe the lemures(2) will toss me in as a joke. Maybe some monstrous fish will leap from the water and bite me in the-_

“Marco?” A voice suddenly called, pulling my thoughts from the river I was sure would kill me if I turned my back on it. “Marco, where are you? I have a lamp, but I don’t want to accidentally light the tree on fire. Please, let me hear you.”

“H-here!” I gulped, still a bit startled by Jean’s sudden appearance. “I’m - I’m here! Follow the sound of my voice.”

Jean came crashing through the low hanging branches carrying an arm-full of blankets and sacks overflowing with food and supplies. He dropped his load ungracefully to the ground, goatskin bags of bread and cheese toppling into my lap. I tucked the dagger into my belt to keep from dropping it amongst the food while Jean fell to his knees and pulled the oil lamp from a bag slung over his bag. The sound of flint being struck reached my ears and suddenly our hideaway was cast into light, revealing Jean and the full extent of his supply run.

“I grabbed everything I could find,” Jean said, pushing blankets out of the way and reaching across the scattered supplies to lay the little clay lamp on the ground by the river. The candlelight danced off the water, flickering in and out as the waves lapped at the shore. “I think I got enough food to last a few days. And there should be enough oil in the lamp for three nights if we’re lucky,” he continued. I nodded tersely and helped him the spread the blankets out on the ground below us, hanging one over our heads in case it rained in the night.

“I, uh. Well I only managed to grab three blankets,” Jean mumbled, gesturing to the only remaining blanket in his hand, then the one hanging above ourselves, then the one on the ground. I shrugged casually and gestured to the blanket spread across the ground. Jean dropped to his knees and sat next to me, tossing the woolen blanket in his hands over our laps. We stared at each other awkwardly in the lamplight.

“Where did you find all of this?” I asked finally, tugging the wool over myself fully and sinking down to lay on my side, staring at Jean expectantly. Jean ran his hand through his hair nervously and did the same.

“I stole most of it,” he laughed, slipping to his side next to me and looking abashedly at the blanket separating his cheek from the ground. “The blankets I got from my home, because the fire had yet to spread that far north, but the food I stole from abandoned homes along the way.”

“Jean!” I protested and sat up on my elbow to glare at him. He waved his hands in front of him quickly.

“No one was going to eat it, Marco,” he rationed, putting a hand on my shoulder and gently pulling me back down so we faced each other again. I huffed.

“You don’t know that,” I started.

“Marco. That fire is going to burn for days. If they left the food behind, they obviously had no intention of eating it before it was lost to the flames,” Jean ran his hand through my hair absently in an effort to calm me. I leaned into the touch ever-so-slightly and relented. “Alright,” I finally agreed, resting my head on my palms. Jean mirrored me and rested his head on his palms as well.

“W-what do we do now?” I asked. Jean shrugged as best he could while lying on his side.

“Sleep, I suppose. There’s not much else to do until the fire dies off,” he said, tugging the blanket higher so it tickled at our shoulders and kept us both protected from the cool night air. I sighed deeply and rolled onto my back. From the corner of my eye, I could see Jean arching his brow and smirking expectantly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I whispered, folding my hands over my chest. “I just don’t believe I’ll be able to sleep tonight, is all.” Jean hummed thoughtfully at my side.

“And why is that?” He asked. I turned to stare incredulously at the boy beside me, eyes wide and mouth opened.

“Why is that? _Why is that?_ Because we are sleeping in the mud outside and it’s cold and I barely know you and there is a fire burning away half the city as we wait here!” I snapped, rolling back to my side so I could stare more forcefully at the seemingly idiotic boy laying in the mud with me.

“Only one of those things seems like an issue to me, really,” Jean stated simply, smiling and rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

“ _Only one?_ ” I yelped. Jean laughs heartily.

“Yes, only one,” he chuckled, snuggling deeper beneath the covers and forcing me to follow him beneath the blankets if I wished to speak with him. I wiggled my way under.

“You see, I don’t think it is all that bad sleeping out here in the mud now that we have a blanket,” he explained. “And I don’t particularly mind sharing my time with you, now that I know you’re not out to murder me with the dagger I so graciously gave you.” I blushed and brought a hand to rest on the blade at my hip, running my thumb along the intricate designs I knew to be carved there. Jean smiled slightly at me, and I could make out the barest twinkling in his eye in the shadow of the blanket over our faces.

“R-right. Y-you made this blade, did you not?” I asked nervously, trying to ignore Jean’s eagerness to spend time with me.

“Yes. Made and carved,” Jean replied nonchalantly. I blushed harder.

“It’s beautiful,” I told him, pulling the dagger from my belt and holding it up between our faces. Our breathing fogged up the polished metal of the handle. “You’re an incredible artist, Jean.” 

It was Jean’s turn to blush. “T-thank you,” he stammered. I nodded and tried to hand the dagger back to him, but he refused and pushed it away as gently as he could.

“No, I’d rather you have it. You need it more than I, and truth be told, I like you more than I like the blade’s intended owner,” Jean said. 

“‘Need it more than I’? What is that supposed to mean?” I scoffed, tucking the dagger back into my belt and squinting at the boy in front of me. For the first time, I noticed his tunic was covered in dirt and there was a smear of ash covering his right cheek.

“This is the first time you’ve taken a step off the Caelian, is it not?” Jean laughed and nudged me on the shoulder. I frowned. 

“Yes, it is. But I can take care of myself, Jean,” I felt ridiculous having to protest this fact while hiding under the blankets in the dark, but I did so anyway.

Before my brother had left for the Guard, he had taught me how to wield a sword. It was always a fake sword — usually a stick fashioned in the length of a gladius(3) — but Bertholdt never seemed to care that we were fighting with wood instead of bronze. He always gave it his all and beat me relentlessly with his own stick, chanting out battle formations like he was already a legionnaire. I was never nearly as good as he was, and my parents would never allow me to follow in his footsteps, but I _had_ learned to fight, even if I’d never had to do it with anyone aside from Bertholdt and his stick-gladius.

“My apologies, I merely wished to keep his highness safe from harm while he’s under my care,” Jean replied, bowing his head in mock salute. I laughed.

“I’m not royalty, Jean,” I chuckled and titled Jean’s head back up so he could look at me. “My father is a senator, not an emperor.”

Jean paled slightly at my words, but I dismissed it as a trick of the poor lighting underneath the blanket.

“O-oh. Well, in that case, I suppose I should be returning you home as soon as possible. Your father is probably worried about his charge,” he said before rolling onto his back and pointedly facing away from me.

“Probably,” I groaned. Truth be told, I had no particular desire to return home after this little misadventure with Jean. Of course, it was frightening to be camped out in the woods without any idea how long we would be there, and yes, it was absolutely terrifying to think that there might not be much of a home for Jean to return me to, but I found myself enjoying it in some perverted way. I liked the freedom and the knowledge that nothing I did really mattered, that nothing I did reflected poorly on my father. It was equally as liberating as it was terrifying.

“How long has your father been in the Senate?” Jean suddenly asked, still not looking at me, his focus on the blanket covering us head to toe.

“My whole life,” I told him, to which he did not respond. An awkward silence stretched between us. To fill it, I asked: “what about your father? Where does he stand?”

Jean responded: “Nowhere. My father isn’t alive as far as I’m aware.” I swallowed awkwardly.

“What about your mother, then?” I tried asking again, unable to believe the boy beside me was entirely parentless.

Jean paused for a few moments, contemplating my question, and I wondered if I had made a mistake in asking him. Bertholdt had always told me plebeian children often grew up parentless, but I thought he was just trying to make me appreciate our own parents more. I had never met someone entirely orphaned before.

“A whore,” he finally said. “My mother is a whore.”

“O-oh,” I shut my mouth with an audible snap. Jean looked at me in concern at the sound of my teeth crashing together. He shook his head a little sadly, a little amusedly.

“Eh, it’s alright. At least I still have her,” he shrugged and turned to look at me, smiling bitterly. “Some people don’t have the same privilege.”

I flushed, realizing how fortunate I was, how privileged I must have seemed to Jean now that he knew I had both my parents while he only had one. I wondered how he didn’t hate me already.

“I’m glad you have her,” I told him, still blushing. Jean smiled back.

“I’m glad I have her, too.”

A peaceful silence stretched over us, slightly less awkward now that we’d put discussions of our parents behind us for the evening. The only sounds came from the river drifting lazily past our blanketed feet, water lapping at the shore. If I held my breath, I could make out the sound of the breeze dancing between the branches above us, whistling by in tandem with my own heartbeat. Jean sighed peacefully beside me, and together we inhaled the cool night air. The blanket draped over our faces smelled lightly of smoke, but it only made the night air more appealing to me, and I breathed it in deeper, comforted by the heady scent blocking us from the world outside. I sighed deeply and closed my eyes, drinking it in.

“Goodnight, Marco,” Jean said suddenly from my side and I peeked one eye open to see that he had also relaxed and closed his eyes. I smiled warmly.

“Goodnight, Jean,” I responded softly, drifting into a dreamless sleep at Jean’s side.

.

..

...

Jean and I ended up spending three days camped out along the banks of the Tiber, relaxing in the shade and telling stories of our lives while we waited for the smoke to stop its ever constant spread. We noticed it stopped heading our direction by the second day after both of us had just returned from wading in the river to wash our clothes. By day three, we noticed the wall of smoke we’d grown accustomed to seeing on the horizon had begun shrinking back behind the outline of Rome before us. It seemed we weren’t the only refugees who took notice; by afternoon the bridge just beyond our little campout was flooded with weary citizens cautiously making their way back into the city.

“Do you think we should join them?” I asked. Jean and I had been eating a rather late and rather unimpressive lunch of apples and stale bread. Needless to say, I was eager to get back home and put more appetizing food back into my body.

Jean looked contemplative for a moment, glaring almost angrily down at the apple in his hand. “After lunch,” he decided with finality, shoving the fruit into his mouth aggressively.

“You do not seem happy about the prospect of returning,” I noted, which made Jean tense up and scowl irritably. I rested my hand soothingly on his thigh, a habit I had noticed myself getting into after spending so much time with Jean over the past few days. “Do you not wish to go back?”

Jean sighed, short and terse, before running his hands through his hair in a way I had come to learn meant he was agitated.

“No, I do want to return. I would like a little more shelter than just a blanket and some twigs and I would like a decent meal. I wouldn’t even mind going back to work at the forges if it meant I had something to do with my hands,” he said, reminding me of his work and the pride he took in his artistry. “I just worry that I will return and things will not be the same…”

I cocked my head to the side curiously. “How so?”

“I don’t...” Jean trailed off and fiddled with the edge of his tunic nervously. “I just… I don’t know for certain where my mother is; or where she’ll be. Alive, I’m sure. She’s far too street smart to be caught up in the flames, but finding her could take weeks if all our usual meeting places are naught but ashes now…” he bit the inside of his cheek nervously.

“You must really care for her,” I said softly, squeezing the thigh I had yet to let go of. Jean nodded. He told me that his mother was his only family and the only person who had stayed consistent throughout his life. He told me he had started working at the forges to help her buy food and clothing when her own profession couldn’t keep the two of them afloat. He told me so much about his mother and their lives together that I felt physically anxious even thinking they may not find each other after this whole ordeal.

“I just want to be certain she is safe,” Jean replied finally.

“I’m sure she will be,” I tried to smile reassuringly. “But...where will you live in the meantime?” I asked. In the past few days, I’d come to learn that Jean had no permanent home, only several makeshift shelters he rotated between to avoid being caught by the Praetorian Guard. The two of us had concurred that none of them would be left standing if the fire had spread as far as we both believed it had.

“I’ll probably sleep in one of the brothels,” Jean shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. He was very ineffective at hiding the wince which accompanied his words. I shot him a skeptical look, but did not force him to elaborate.

“Perhaps I could convince my father to let you rest in our villa,” I suggested. My attempts at appearing casual were pitiful at best, and Jean and I both knew it, but I still tried to act like I was asking for a stroll along the river bank instead of inviting Jean to live in my home.

“Marco, your father would kill me,” Jean laughed. It figured Jean would have heard just as much about my father as I had heard about his mother in the past few days. Admittedly, Jean’s opinion of his mother was far higher than my opinion of my father, but I tried not to dwell on it.

“We don’t know that!” I protested. “He may be grateful that you saved my life! He may offer you something as a reward for returning me home safely!” Jean pursed his lips and acted as though he was considering this point, but shook his head sadly after a few moments of supposed contemplation.

“I don’t know, Marco. From what you’ve told me…”

“Forget what I’ve told you! I’m his only son now, he’ll have to be grateful for the man who saved my life!” I interjected, grabbing Jean by the shoulders and shaking him back and forth like a hound shakes its prey. “Please, Jean, at least let me try to convince him.” Jean sighed heavily and grabbed my hands gently, removing them from his shoulders and holding them between our chests. Delicately, he brought the knuckles of each hand to his own lips, brushing a kiss against my skin before releasing my hands and letting them fall.

“You don’t...” Jean shook his head and sighed. “You don’t _owe_ me anything for saving you, Marco. I didn’t pull you away from that building because I expected to get something in return. I-I still don’t expect anything from you.” Jean blushed slightly and turned away. _None of that_ , I thought, grabbing his chin and gently pulling it until he was forced to face me and our eyes were forced to meet. 

“Then consider it a gift, from one friend to another,” I smiled, pulling Jean forward by the chin so I could press a kiss to his cheek. His skin felt feverish against my lips.

Jean gulped — audibly loud given how close I was — and nodded shyly, allowing me to lean away fully. I laughed.

“Then, come,” I stood gracelessly from my position atop the blanket, grabbing two of the goatskin bags and throwing them over my shoulder. “Let us go convince my father you’ve earned a place in our house for the time being.” We both laughed, packing up the remainder of our supplies and heading back into the city to face our newest challenges side by side.

.

..

...

My father was not at home when we finally arrived at the villa. The walk up the hill had been long and particularly arduous, given how much stuff Jean and I were carrying between the two of us, but we had managed to make it to the Caelian before sundown. I was relieved to find my home still in one piece, almost completely untouched by fire, save for the garden out front which had been burnt to a crisp. I was not relieved, however, to find the house seemingly empty upon arrival.

“Hello? _Hello? Pater?_ ” I called, leading Jean through the corridors of the villa and ducking into doorways in search of a familiar face. “ _Mater?_ ”

“Marcus?!” A voice suddenly called out from one of the cubicula, shrill and piercing in the relative silence of the villa. Jean jumped nervously beside me but allowed me to grab his hand and lead him towards the answering voice.

“Mater!” I called again, this time to be met with a smiling woman rushing towards me with her arms extended. My mother quickly wrapped me in a hug, completely disregarding the handful of blankets and food in my arms and crushing me to her chest.

“My son, my son! Oh, Marcus, we were so worried!” She cooed, pulling me tight and gripping my hair too tightly in one of her hands. “Where were you? Where did Decimus go? Who is-” my mother suddenly stopped and stared and Jean. The boy still gripping one of my hands in his own shuffled awkwardly under her scrutinous gaze. I cleared my throat and pulled myself away from my mother’s crushing embrace.

“Mater, this is Jean. He saved me from the fire,” I explained, tugging Jean forward a little so my mother could examine him. Jean cast a wary glare in my direction, then bowed nervously to the intimidating woman in front of him.

“Hmph,” my mother grunted, folding tanned arms across the gown she was wearing. It looked too pristine and affluent compared to my own dirtied tunic and even more so compared to Jean’s rags.

“I suppose I should thank you,” she said, tucking some of the long brown hair which had come undone from her braid back into its proper place. Jean nodded clumsily as she shook his hand. “Thank you for returning our son to us. Now,” she turned to me. “Let’s get you cleaned up and presentable for your father. He’ll be so happy to see you when he returns from the Senate meeting.” 

“Mater, I-” I started, only to have her cut me off by grabbing me harshly by the arm.

“Come now, Marcus, it’s time to get ready,” she snapped, pulling me in the direction of the baths and yanking me from Jean’s grip. I turned to look at the boy and found him staring dazedly at the ground beneath his feet, as if unsure what to do.

“But Mater, I really need to discuss something-!” I tried again, this time pulling away and reaching out to Jean. His hand wrapped protectively around my own.

“Marcus, that’s enough. It’s time for the boy to run along home,” I was suddenly yanked forward harder than I had anticipated, my body colliding with my mother’s and my hand ripping free from Jean’s grasp. She merely jerked me back to a standing position and tried to tug me along the hallway.

“But Mater, Jean saved my life! Couldn’t we offer him a bed? O-or some food? O-or-!” A resounding _smack!_ suddenly broke through the eerie silence hanging over the villa, silencing me effectively. Behind me, I heard Jean’s breathing stop altogether.

“Marcus, enough,” the woman who had just slapped me said. Her voice was cold and passionless, even as I brought my own hand to the stinging flesh of my cheek. I winced. Tears flooded my eyes unbidden and I knew I’d be punished for showing such weakness later when Jean wasn’t around to see it. 

“Marco…” a new voice, much warmer, much more compassionate, piped in from behind me. I turned to face the speaker halfway, not wanting Jean to see the shameful tears welling up in my eyes. 

“Marco, it’s okay. Really. I-I already told you, I didn’t expect anything,” he said sadly, reaching back out for my hand. I gladly gave it to him.

“I’m still sor-” I cut off when my mother shook me harshly in her grip. I tried again. “I’m - just - thank you. Thank you. For saving me, Jean.” I finally settled on. The tears started flowing a little more freely down my face.

Jean squeezed my hand reassuringly, a small smile on his face.

“Of course, Marco,” he said, squeezing one last time before letting go of my hand and letting it drop to my side. I watched sadly as Jean bowed to my mother and myself, before turning on his heel and walking back out the door. I kept watching the hallway, tears streaming silently down my face, long after he’d gone. 

“Wait until your father hears about this,” my mother hissed, finally pulling me towards the baths and shoving me inside.

 _Yes_ , I thought. _Wait until Father hears all about this_.

_I hope he’s pleased._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
>  _Pater_ \- father  
>  _Mater_ \- mother
> 
> Notes:  
> (1) Tiberinus. Roman god of the Tiber River.  
> (2) Lemures. Shades or spirits of the restless or malignant dead in Roman mythology  
> (3) Gladius. The primary sword of Ancient Roman foot soldiers.


	3. Infernum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A taste of freedom, and something a little less sweet. Jean's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just to preface...the way Roman's viewed sexuality was very VERY different from how we view it. Freedmen were allowed (and in a lot of cases expected) to have sex with whoever they want, as long as they were the active partner. Being the passive partner, even consensually, was considered weak and was generally frowned upon, especially for men of higher status.  
> This will make sense later, I swear I'm not just trying to dump my thesis on you for funsies. (or maybe I am hehehe) 
> 
> Also just a heads up, lot's of period-typical homophobia and slut-shaming ahead. Ye be warned.

My mind was an absolute mess by the time I reached the brothel on the way back from Marco’s villa. All I could think of was Marco’s face when his mother refused to thank me, Marco’s face when he was slapped and shoved aside by his own family. It made me sick to even consider.

“ _Concubinus?_ ” A voice called, snapping me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see a woman in tattered dresses watching me irritably from the desk propped in the corner. She drummed her fingers on the wood as she waited for me to answer. 

“No, of course not,” I hissed, dismissing her question immediately. Frankly, I was a little offended she thought I was a whore when I very well could have been her next customer. It seemed like a poor business practice to go about making assumptions like that.

“Men or women?” She tried asking instead, propping her head on one hand and rolling her eyes. I squinted angrily in her direction.

“I’m not here for pleasure, I’m looking for my mother,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and waiting for her to put the pieces together.

“You’re Octavia’s brat?” Her eyebrows drew together and she stood up a little to check me over. Her piercing blue eyes swept over my face a few too many times. “You have her eyes.” 

“I’ve been told,” I huffed, not bothering to respond more formally, instead waiting for the woman to give me some actually useful information. “Have you seen her?”

The woman pursed her lips, pretending to think, and hummed obnoxiously. I shuffled my feet anxiously while I waited for her response.

“Not recently, not since before the fire. But she should be in by weeks end if you really need to see her,” she said, pointing towards the hallway stretching out behind her. “Her usual room is open until then if you’d like to use it.” I nodded, brushing past her and making my way down the hall towards the room I knew uncomfortably well. The hallway smelled of smoke and sex, and I covered my nose with the blankets still tangled in my arms to block out the stench. The farther I walked down the hallway, the worse it got, and eventually, I gave up on holding the blanket over my nose.

I pulled up in front of the last door on the right, hauling it open cautiously. The door still stuck and made an awful squeaking noise when I tried to pry it open, but the room hadn’t changed one bit. I sighed. It was comforting to have something familiar to come back to. I dropped the blankets on the tiny bed in the corner and opened the windows, trying to filter out the smell of ash and sweat which seemed to permeate the room to its core. It didn’t really help all that much, but it did let a cool breeze into the bedroom and I relished the slight temperature change. I took several deep breaths of the outside air, letting it fill my lungs and ruffle my hair, before collapsing back into the pile of blankets on the bed. 

“Fuck,” I mumbled, staring at the chipped and cracking ceiling above me. I was worried about Marco. It didn’t feel right leaving him behind in that villa with his parents, knowing they’d never let him out again because he’d come home with a plebeian and lost a slave the one time he’d been allowed to explore. It wasn’t fair to him. And it isn’t what Marco wanted.

“ _I really would like to go out more_ ,” he’d told me one day while we were sitting on the riverbank eating pears and talking about our lives. I had just asked him why he never went outside. “ _There’s so much I want to see outside the villa, but my father and mother would never let me. They’re so concerned I’ll be kidnapped and taken for ransom by thieves. They never let me off the grounds_.” I asked him what he wanted to do, what he would want to see most if he was let off his leash for just one day.

“ _I’ve always wanted to see the Circus...I think I went once as a boy with Bertholdt and Decimus, but we never saw any of the games. I’d like to see one someday…_ ” Marco had trailed off with a starry look in his eyes, fantasizing about seeing the _ludi_ in person one day. I had patted him on the shoulder and promised him he would see them; I promised I would take him myself if I had to. 

_Well, a promise is a promise_ , I thought, staring out the window at the elongated shadows and thinking of the boy I’d saved. 

_Lucky for Marco, I intend to keep my promise._

.

..

...

I spent the next two weeks working in the forges, remaking the dagger I had gifted to Marco so I could deliver it to the rightful owner. The man was not pleased it had taken me so long to complete the new model and shirked me five denarii(1) when I finally delivered the new blade to him. My mother eventually found her way back to the brothel where I’d been sleeping, waiting for her, and we reunited joyously upon learning we were both alive and well. I told her all about the senator’s son I befriended.

“His father and mother never let him leave the estate and they treat him like a whelp. He’s always doing his lessons and practicing his penmanship like a child,” I told her. My mother ran her hand through my hair sadly.

“I’m sure they’ll realize their error one day, Jean,” she tried to persuade me, but I shook my head, thinking of Marco’s face when his mother slapped him.

“I don’t believe they will,” I sighed, leaning closer to my mother and placing my head on her shoulder. She wrapped her arm around me and pulled me closer to her side, coddling me like I was still a babe.

“Then maybe it’s up to you to make them realize their folly, hm?” She suggested. I smiled and hugged her back. 

“I plan on it,” I told her, squeezing her tightly before jumping up and announcing my departure, packing up a bag full of food and water along with all the coins I had saved up from working in the forges. “I’m going to sneak him out, Mother,” I said, kissing her on the cheek and ducking out the door. 

The trek back to Marco’s villa was much easier now that I knew where to go, and I found myself crouched in the bushes surrounding the garden in no time. I peered through the leaves, looking for signs of life, but found none, save for a tired old dog lying in the middle of the courtyard and napping tiredly in the morning sun. I leaped from the bushes and tiptoed my way around the sleeping hound, making my way towards the front door as soundlessly as I possibly could. The dog peered up at me through foggy eyes but made no move to stop me or alert anyone of my presence. I patted him once on the head for his indiscretion and slipped through the door. Once inside, I ducked behind a column and listened for any signs of life. The only noise I could hear was coming from the end of the hall where I suspected the kitchen was, so I cautiously started walking in the other direction. I began making my way towards the cubicula I remembered seeing last time I was inside.

“Marco?” I whispered every time I poked my head through the door of another empty room. “Marco? Where are you?” I kept making my way down the hall.

“Jean?” A gasp suddenly sounded from a room to my right, one I hadn’t yet stuck my head into. I beamed and rushed towards the door.

“Marco! Come on, I’m here to break you out,” I smiled brightly, staring down at the shocked boy in front of me. Marco was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a scroll in his hands and a stunned look on his face.

“J-jean! You can’t be here!” he yelped, jumping up from his spot on the floor and ushering me back towards the front door. “If my parents see you, they’ll have you killed!”

“I know!” I whirled around and grabbed Marco by the hand, pulling him towards the door he was trying so hard to usher me through. “That’s why they aren’t going to see us. Now come on, we have so much to do.” 

“Jean, what are you-”

“The Circus, Marco! I’m taking you to the Circus!” I whispered excitedly, finally managing to drag Marco out the front door. The dog lying on the ground blinked up at us blearily and let us pass right by, me pulling Marco enthusiastically. Marco attempted to huff out an excuse as to why he should stay behind, but it fell on deaf ears and I never let go of his hand.

“Jean, my father-!” 

“Marco, live a little!” I said, stopping short and spinning around to face the boy. Marco was gnawing anxiously on his lip and his eyes flicked back and forth between me, our entwined hands, and the villa we’d left behind. I squeezed his hand tightly in my own, begging him to just _follow me_ for once. “Just trust me. I won’t let anything bad happen to you,” I reassured him. 

Marco seemed to ponder this for a few moments, looking back at the villa a few more times for good measure, before eventually nodding nervously in my direction. He let out a flustered yelp as I pulled him along with a newfound enthusiasm.

“This will be so fun,” I promised, looking behind me to find Marco was now laughing freely as I dragged him down the street towards the center of the city. 

“Alright, alright!” He giggled. Soon enough, he was racing by my side, just as eager to reach the Circus as I was, our sandaled feet pounding against the cobblestones as we rushed down the hill. We rounded corners at breakneck speeds; skidded across streets like fabric in the wind.

“There!” I shouted when the Circus finally came into our line of sight. The arched walls rose sharply above the streets, towering over us as we rushed closer and closer. I pulled Marco to a stop just beneath one of the arches. We were both panting and out of breath. 

“How do we get in?” Marco asked gleefully, watching wide-eyed at the people streaming in and out of the massive gates. He looked happier than I’d ever seen him.

“Like this,” I said, walking right through one of the arches into the venue. Marco followed along behind me, gawking in awe at the people swirling around us. I led him to a row of seats near the racetrack and sat him down, watching as he looked around in childlike wonder.

“It’s so big!” he shouted, arms waving around excitedly. I wondered if he’d ever seen so many people in his life. Probably not.

“Wait until the race starts,” I laughed, sitting down next to him and trying to keep him from bouncing right off his seat. A pompous man next to us _humphed!_ moodily at Marco’s childlike wonder and I shot him an obscene gesture once his back was turned. Luckily, Marco didn’t seem to notice any of this and instead kept his gaze fixed on the track in front of us.

“Who’s that?” he asked, pointing excitedly at the charioteer driving in circles nearest to our section. 

“One of the racers,” I laughed, watching in joy as Marco continued gawking at the different drivers and their teams of horses. Every once in a while he would grab my arm and point excitedly at a different horse or charioteer, commenting on how pretty they were or how strong they looked. He seemed to especially favor whoever it was driving the blue chariot. “ _Look how strong he is!_ ” Marco shouted at one point. “ _And look how gorgeous those horses are! Jean, I want to pet them!_ ”

The remainder of the race went much like this, with Marco asking questions and talking about all the different participants. The man next to us who had initially scoffed at Marco’s optimism left halfway through the first race, but neither of us cared. We were too busy cheering on the blue team and chatting about the logistics of chariot racing.

“YES! YES! WOO!” Marco damn near passed out with excitement when the blue chariot was the first to cross the finish line and the only team to not have broken down at some point during the race. At some point, he threw himself into my waiting arms and proceeded to jump up at down with joy. “That was amazing, Jean!” he shouted right into my ear, drowning out the roar of the crowd with his ebullience. I hugged him back as tightly as I dared.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” I yelled back, deciding to lead Marco back out of the arena before the crowds became too great. He followed along happily, babbling non-stop about the race as we weaved our way through merchants and fans.

“I can’t believe the chariot stayed standing! That must have taken so much skill! How did they do that? It was so impressive!” Marco kept saying, referring to when the green team had almost wiped out taking one of the turns too fast. Marco had gripped my arm painfully tight when it happened, screeching about the horse and worrying they would be hurt, but had cheered louder than just about anyone when they managed to make it through the turn unharmed.

“It was,” I agreed, laughing at the fun he was having. I was leading us back in the direction of Marco’s home to return him for the day, but I found myself reluctant to cut off his fun so soon. Pulling Marco behind me, I ducked into an open market and made my way towards one of the vendors. Using the denarii I had saved up from work, I bought us one flask of sweet wine to share and handed it to Marco. He scolded me for spending so much money on him but took the first sip happily once we’d found a place to sit in the street a few feet away from the vendor.

“This is delicious,” he groaned, licking his lips and handing me the flask. I downed a few sips and hummed in agreement. _Gods, how I loved Roman wine_. 

“Thank you for this,” Marco sighed. I handed him the flask to take another sip. He happily accepted and gulped down about a quarter of the remaining wine.

“Of course, Marco,” I said, swiping the flask back and draining the next quarter. Marco huffed in mock exasperation.

“I mean it, Jean. Thank you so much for...everything, I suppose,” he sighed dreamily. “I never would have known...I mean, I never would have known how much was out here if you hadn’t…” I could tell Marco was struggling to put his thoughts into words, so I hugged him tightly to shut him up.

“No need to thank me, Marco,” I whispered into his ear, squeezing him tighter to my chest. I began rubbing soothing circles on his back the way my mother would when I was upset. Marco exhaled lightly and allowed me to continue my gentle treatment, cuddling into my chest a little more.

We sat like that for a few minutes; holding each other tightly and relishing in the taste of sweet summer wine. The traitorous part of my brain wondered if it would taste sweeter if I licked it from Marco’s lips, but I shut that thought down as soon as it appeared. _Save your thoughts of romance for another time_ , I told myself. _It’s time for Marco to return home_.

I nudged the boy wrapped around me like a vine. We had finished the wine a while ago, the flask now discarded by our feet, and I no longer had any excuse to keep Marco for myself. He needed to get home before his father and mother noticed his absence, anyway.

“Marco,” I elbowed the boy in the ribs. “Marco, it’s time to go.” Marco sighed grumpily and sat up slowly. He kept blinking his eyes blearily, and I wondered if he had fallen asleep curled around me. I hoped so. 

“But I’m having so much fun out here,” he said sadly. I ran my hand through his hair gently. 

“I know. But we must get you home before your parents notice your absence,” I told him. Marco pouted unhappily, but pulled himself away from my arms and stood as if preparing to go. He nodded once, dejectedly, and helped raise me to my feet.

“I promise to take you out again,” I whispered once we were standing eye to eye. He beamed brightly at that, grabbing my hand and squeezing it happily. I let him keep holding it as we began making our way back towards the Caelian hill and Marco’s home. 

.

..

…

If I had known that everything would go to hell when we arrived at Marco’s villa, I probably would have just taken him back to live in the brothel with me. Alas, I lacked the gift of foresight, and so found myself leading Marco back to his rightful home like a fool. 

My initial plan had been to sneak Marco into the front garden, then rush off before I could be caught. Marco would tell anyone who caught him creeping back into the villa that he had fallen asleep in the garden and had just woken up. But when we arrived in front of the expansive estate, our plans were foiled.

“Jean!” Marco squeaked, pulling me to the side and ducking behind a bush. Several guards stood at the entrance to Marco’s home, piercing gazes scanning the road in either direction. I could see a few more in full armor patrolling the garden.

“What should we do now?” Marco asked nervously, shifting on his haunches as I desperately tried to come up with a new course of action. 

Fortunately — or unfortunately, I suppose — a course of action was decided for me, as I was suddenly knocked on my face and pushed to the ground with a boot against my back. I heard Marco yelling something incoherent at the same time and I turned to make sure he was okay. He wasn’t in my line of sight at all. I panicked.

“Bertholdt, put me down!” I heard him yell. I tried to twist around to see him, but the boot against my back kept me firmly planted on the ground. “Let go of him!” Marco yelled again. 

“No, Marco. Now get inside while I deal with your kidnapper,” another voice chimed in. I assumed it belonged to this Bertholdt person. _Marco’s brother_ , my brain supplied unhelpfully. 

Marco attempted to say something else, but I couldn’t hear it over the sound of Bertholdt shouting orders, demanding whoever had their boot at my back to lift me up. A pair of arms suddenly wound its way around my chest, heaving me up from the ground and bringing me face-to-face with an incredibly tall man in full military regalia. He and Marco had the same color eyes and hair, but Marco’s face was much more welcoming. Behind him, I spotted another, much shorter man holding Marco around the waist.

“What did you intend to do with my brother, pleb?” The man — _Bertholdt_ — snapped, drawing a gladius and bringing it towards my throat. I attempted to wiggle away, but the goliath of a man holding me still kept me from getting far. Marco shouted something that sounded like it could be a plea for help, but the man holding him slapped a hand over his mouth before the plea could slip past his lips. 

“I-I nothing! We went to the Circus!” I yelped. The tip of Bertholdt’s sword pressed lightly against my windpipe. I could feel it breaking the skin when I swallowed nervously. 

“Lies!” The man holding me hissed, shaking me back and forth like a rag doll. 

“Reiner, enough!” Bertholdt snapped, turning his attention from the man back to me. “I’ll ask again: what intentions did you have with my brother, street rat?” 

“N-nothing I swear! We just went to see the chariot races!” I cried. A scuffle was taking place to my right and I distantly acknowledged it as Marco attempting to fight off the man holding him. I didn’t dare look away from Bertholdt, though. His sword was far too close to my neck. 

“Bertholdt, stop!” Marco suddenly cried and I risked a glance in his direction. The man who had been holding him was on the ground, clutching a bloody nose. Marco rushed towards us, ramming himself into Bertholdt’s sword arm and placing himself between his brother and myself. 

“Marco, leave this to us,” Bertholdt brought the sword towards my throat again. 

“No! Jean did not kidnap me!” Marco punched his brother in the arm, right at the elbow, forcing Bertholdt to drop the sword. He gaped at his younger brother, affronted, before harshly shoving Marco out of the way. 

“Then you went willingly?” Bertholdt seethed. Marco nodded, trying to right himself and step between Bertholdt and me once again. 

“Yes. Jean is my friend,” he explained. Bertholdt looked warily at the soldier holding me around the chest and cautiously motioned for the man to release me. The man dropped me to the ground where I collapsed, unaware that I had been holding my breath. I gasped for air, watching as Marco dropped to his knees beside me and tried to help me back to my feet. I leaned heavily on his side. 

“You know you’re not supposed to leave the house, Marco,” Bertholdt sighed. He jerked his head at the other soldiers, all of them nodding in unison and marching towards the gardens. “Father was worried sick. He thought you’d been taken for ransom.”

“I-I just...I wanted to see the Circus, Bert,” Marco whispered sadly, looking down at his feet.

“Marco-” 

“MARCUS!” a new voice suddenly interjected. From the corner of my eye, I saw both Marco and Bertholdt freeze.

“Senator,” Bertholdt saluted, addressing the man walking towards us. His robes billowed out behind him as he walked; the picture of command. I found myself shrinking back the closer the man came. 

“Son,” the man had a booming voice, exactly what I would have expected from someone his size and stature. I shrunk back even more. 

“Father,” Marco and Bertholdt responded in unison. Marco bowed next to me and I awkwardly followed along since I was still resting my weight on him.

“And who is this?” Marco’s father gestured to me. I looked at Marco, unsure if I should introduce myself or stay silent. Marco did not look at me.

“Father, t-this is Jean. He saved my life in the fire a few weeks ago. W-we...we went to the Circus today,” Marco explained. The way his voice shook made me want to hold to him even tighter.

“Jean,” the Senator sounded my name out slowly. I nodded hesitantly as Marco’s father silently appraised me, running his eyes over me several times. Suddenly, a broad smile stretched across his face, startling Marco and myself in equal measures. 

“Ah, so you’ve found yourself your first _cinaedus_ ,” the man beamed, stepping forward to pat his son on the shoulder. “I’m proud.”

Marco and I reeled back, letting go of each other. _Cinaedus...he didn’t think I was a...he couldn’t possibly think I was a...could he?_

“N-no! Father, gods no! You misunderstand!” Marco yelped, ripping away from his father’s hand on his shoulder. He looked like he was about to throw up, and I could not blame him. I was feeling pretty similar.

“He’s very attractive, son. Looks a great deal like a whore I used to frequent after your brother was born,” Marco’s father continued. The nauseous feeling grew stronger.

“No! Father! Jean isn’t - he’s not - Jean is my _friend!_ ” Marco added. I wondered if throwing up on a senator was considered a crime.

“I understand completely, Marcus. But I’m proud. I’m glad to have raised such a virile young man.” _Oh gods, I was gonna throw up on a senator, Jupiter save me._

“Father, no! Jean isn’t-!”

“I’m not a whore, sir,” I managed to squeak out. I still felt like throwing up was a very definite possibility, but I forced myself to swallow it down. Marco and his father both fell silent at my addition to their conversation. 

“You’re not a _concubinus?_ ” Marco’s father asked.

“N-no. No, sir. I’m not,” I stuttered. Marco grabbed my hand reassuringly. Behind Marco, I could see Bertholdt going wide-eyed from the exchange.

“Hmm,” the senator hummed, crossing his arms over his chest and giving me another once-over. I expected him to storm off and take Bertholdt and Marco with him, complaining about Marco’s choice in company and maybe punishing Marco for a day or two. I did not expect him to have the reaction he did.

The Senator suddenly whirled on me, turning his attention to his youngest son and grabbing him by the front of his tunic. Marco yelped as he was suddenly yanked forward and brought face to face with his father.

“He didn’t seduce you, did he, Marcus?” the man hissed, shaking Marco back and forth harshly.

“No, father! I swear it isn’t like that!” Marco cried, trying desperately to remove his father’s hands from his tunic. Much to my surprise, Bertholdt made no move to help out his younger brother. He watched the exchange with a cold regard.

“You didn’t bend over for this filthy street rat, did you?” Marco’s father hissed. Marco shook his head rapidly.

“No! Father, Jean has never taken me to bed! Please, let me go!” He yelled. The senator glared at his son with a look of pure hatred, tightening his grip on Marco’s tunic briefly before releasing him harshly, sending Marco reeling to the ground. This time, Bertholdt did intervene, and I found myself kneeling beside Marco with Bertholdt, the two of us helping the boy to stand. 

“I always knew you were too loose-belted, Marcus,” the man leering over us spat. Marco, Bertholdt and I winced as though we each had been struck. I tried to wrap an arm protectively around Marco in reassurance, but he shook me off, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. 

“Damned _effeminatus_ ,” Marco’s father spat, glaring coldly at his son. “And _you_ ,” he suddenly pointed at me. I froze. “I never want to see you around my son again. I will not have him bending over for some _pleb_ like a back-alley _whore_.”

“But sir-” I tried to interject. _How dare he think so lowly of Marco. How dare he think so lowly of his own son_ , I thought. 

“Get out. Get out before I have the Senate issue a formal banishment,” the man hissed. He sounded like a snake.

“Jean, just go,” Marco whispered. His voice sounded absolutely heartbroken. I turned to look at him one last time.

“But Marco-” he shook his head sadly, nudging me away from him gently and standing so he could bow respectfully towards his father. I didn’t think the man deserved it, but I nodded sadly anyway. 

“Okay,” I sighed, voice hoarse. “Okay.”

“Goodbye, Marco,” I finally said, looking at the boy I’d come to appreciate more than just about anyone in the world in the course of a few days. I tried to ignore the tears trickling down his face and the gut-wrenching feeling that accompanied me walking away from his slouched silhouette. 

“Goodbye, Jean,” Marco replied. 

Blinking back tears of my own, I walked away from Marco, leaving him behind for the last time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
>  _Concubinus_ \- a male concubine, male prostitute  
>  _Ludi_ \- games  
>  _Cinaedus_ \- a derogatory word denoting an effeminate male whose choice of sex acts or sexual partners was secondary to his perceived deficiencies as a man. The term originally applied to a professional male dancer whose performance featured tambourine-playing and movements that suggested anal intercourse  
>  _Effeminatus_ \- another derogatory word for the passive partner in a homosexual relationship, literally translated would mean 'effeminate one' or 'someone who allows entrance easily' 
> 
> Notes:  
> (1) Denarii. One form of Roman currency; a silver coin.


	4. Divum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, something goes right. Marco's POV.

That night, my thoughts were entirely on Jean. On his smiling face, on the warmth of his hand as he pulled me around the Circus, on his laughter, on the look of heartbreak in his eyes when my father threatened to exile him. 

I cried far too many times that evening, locking myself away in my room and breaking down on my bed. At some point, Bertholdt tried to let himself in and console me, but I yelled at him until he was forced to leave me alone. My mother and father didn’t even try to speak with me. I could hear them talking about how disappointed they were in me out in the hall, and that was enough. 

By the time the sun had risen in the sky once more, I had exhausted myself of tears entirely. I was fairly certain I would shrivel up and die if I cried another time. I was also fairly certain that I needed to make this right. And I needed to see Jean again.

It was early enough that neither of my parents were awake. Bertholdt never woke before mid-afternoon on the days when he returned from the military, so I was safe on that front, too. Quickly and quietly as I could, I rushed around the villa, collecting supplies and gathering my clothes into a sack. Once I was satisfied with my haul, I set about writing a note for my parents and for Bert.

On the note for I left for Bertholdt I wrote: _Dearest brother, thank you for teaching me how to fight, and for being there for me when I was young and unsure of myself. I love you and hope you can forgive me for leaving our family behind. I know not where I will go, but I believe we will meet again one day, hopefully under better circumstances than the ones we parted under. All my love, Marco._

To my parents, I wrote a much shorter and much more to-the-point letter. _Mater et Pater, I regret to inform you that I am leaving to live with Jean and his mother. I can no longer live with being the family disappointment. I hope you can understand. Love, Marcus Catulus Decipula._ I folded both notes and placed them on my bed, glancing around the room one last time before making my way out the front door. The dagger Jean had gifted me was tucked gently into the notch in my belt, where it had hung ever since it had been bestowed upon me.

I made my way through the streets as quietly as I could, even though my parents were far behind me and no one was awake to stop me from sneaking around. Jean had shown me the forge where he worked most days when he was walking me home from the Circus and I thought I could retrace my steps there. I got lost a few times, gripping the dagger tightly every time I didn’t recognize my surroundings, but I managed to find the little brick building and it’s billowing chimney before the streets became too crowded with early morning shoppers. 

“Hello? Is anyone here?” I called, knocking on the door frame and poking my head through the front. A solitary figure stood in the corner, stoking the flames. “Jean?” I tried calling again. The figure shot up straight, spinning around faster than was strictly advisable in a room filled with fire and smelted metal.

“Marco?” Jean whispered quietly as if he were staring at the face of a god. I smiled happily, nodding and dropping my belongings to the ground by the door. I took another step forward and held open my arms. Jean squeaked, high pitched and embarrassingly loud, flinging himself into my arms and squeezing me tightly. I soon found myself being lifted from the ground and twirled around in giddy circles. 

“Marco! Marco!” He cried, finally putting me back on the ground and gripping my face with his hands. His own face and arms were covered in soot from stoking the flames, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t even mind that he was probably rubbing ash into my own flesh.

“H-how? How did you-”

“I left them,” I said, equally happy and sorrowful. Jean brushed his thumb over my brow as if sensing my distress. 

“Where will you go?” he asked, bringing me closer to hug me once again. I happily accepted his embrace. 

“Wherever you’ll take me,” I replied. I could hear Jean’s breath hitching in my ear and I pulled away to look him in the eye. “I-if that’s okay with you?” 

“Marco…” Jean smiled brightly, lighting up the room with his happiness. He grabbed my chin lightly and tilted my head down so I could look him in the eye. “Of course that’s okay with me. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Just say the word,” I smiled back at the boy smiling so peacefully in front of me and nodded.

“I love you,” I whispered. It seemed ridiculous to me that I would start crying now when everything was finally going right and I was getting exactly what I wanted, but I could feel the tears coming to my eyes unbidden. I tried to blink them away. 

“I love you, too,” Jean whispered back. Neither of us mentioned that his eyes were filling with tears as well. Later, we would both blame it on the smoke of the forges burning brightly only a few feet away.

“M-may I kiss you?” he asked. I nodded. 

“Only if I may kiss you back,” I teased, leaning forward so our foreheads rested against each other. Jean smiled happily and leaned forward as well, closing the distance between us and pressing his lips to mine. He tasted like smoke and salt. I thought to myself that nothing could possibly taste sweeter.

When he pulled away, Jean lifted his head to look me in the eye, his own amber eyes gleaming. I was pleased to note they weren’t sparkling with tears this time.

“Jean?” I asked, receiving a warm hum in response. Jean brought his hands up to my hair and began playing with it, running back and forth through the strands. 

“Yeah, Marco?”

“Thank you for saving me from the fire,” I said, leaning into Jean’s roaming hands. Jean hummed again and leaned forward to press another kiss to my lips.

“Of course,” he said, then smiled flirtatiously. “I promised you I’d come back, didn’t I?”

“You did,” I laughed. “Thank you for keeping your promise.”

Jean smiled at me, contented, before wrapping me up in yet another hug. I gladly returned it.

"I'm glad I kept it," he murmured, breath tickling my cheek.

_Yes_ , I thought, smiling once more and pressing one last kiss into the skin of Jean's neck. _I'm glad you kept it, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
>  _Mater et Pater_ \- mother and father 
> 
> And that's the end! I'm sorry I suck at writing endings...and short stories. I told myself this would be the year where I just wrote something short and sweet but then approaching_asymetry said ancient Rome and I got too swept up in this I'm so sorry. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this 13K geek out in the form of Jeanmarco fluff. I had a lot of fun writing it! Happy holidays!!


End file.
